


My Choice

by rayshant_bestopt



Series: My Choice [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: First Kiss, First Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parent Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayshant_bestopt/pseuds/rayshant_bestopt
Summary: Oliver made a choice to be friends with Barry Allen the first day he met him-- it just took a little while.  As time goes on, some choices are easier, some are harder.





	1. The First Time it Happened

The first time they meet Oliver is seven. He’s in the library, hunched over his math workbook, when the doorbell rings, and his mother calls him down into the foyer to “meet a friend”. It’s some man from Central City– a highly respected doctor, he’ll find out later. But right now, he’s just a man at the door with his wife and son. The little brunette boy peeks out from behind his own mother’s legs, barely five-years old, and if Oliver hadn’t been trained so well, even now, he would make a face. He doesn’t want to play with a baby– he already has Thea, who isn’t even three yet, to look after all the time because the nannies can’t make her happy like he can. Except he loves his bratty sister– he doesn’t like this scrawny, dopey-looking kid. He wants to go play with Tommy and Dig out in the woods, climbing trees and sword fighting with sticks. But his mom has made him stay behind, to keep _the baby_ company.

“Oliver, this is Barry. What do you say?” Moira Queen prompts her son, and the sandy-haired boy shuffles forward, tugging at the fabric of his brand new button-down shirt before putting out his hand respectfully.

“‘lo, Barry,” he grumbles, watching as the shy green gaze stares at his hand curiously, before his own mother nudges him forward and Barry comes around in khakis and a plain blue tee shirt, taking the other boy’s hand in his and letting it wag up and down.

“Oliver, why don’t you show Barry your playroom?” his mother suggests, shifting Thea on her hip, and the boy just manages to keep from rolling his eyes, although an exasperated huff still escapes his throat as he twists his hold on Barry’s hand, turning toward the stairs and tugging _the baby_ along. 

“Come on, Barry.” He was busy striding toward the staircase– he doesn’t notice the awe in the younger boy’s expression as he stares at their hands, still clasped.

The room is in pristine order: toy cars and books and blocks all stacked and placed in their proper places. Thea has her own toys in the nursery, and Oliver doesn’t play with these much: he likes being outside more, practicing his bow and arrow or running the trails. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be able to use the grown-up ones for both, and Oliver is eager to show the man he can do it. Now though, he can’t even practice: he has to waste his Saturday inside, he thinks grumpily as he releases the younger boy’s hand immediately upon entering the room, walking over to his bookshelf and taking a paperback before sinking into one of the bean bag chairs in the corner, intent on ignoring _the baby_.

He does glance up, however, when he notices Barry hasn’t moved from the doorway yet. “You can play with this stuff,” he informs the other, watching as the skinny five-year old shifts shyly in place. “I don’t care.”

After a moment of silence, the wide green eyes finally settle on Oliver. “What are _you_ doing?” comes the quiet question.

“I’m going to read The Abominable Snowman,” he holds up the book in his hand. 

“What’s that?” Seven-year old eyes scrutinize the younger boy shuffling forward, cautious but curious.

“It’s a monster in the mountains. It’s a Choose Your Own Adventure book.” At _the baby's_ questioning look, Oliver continues, “You read each part, and you can pick what to do next. It’s cool.”

“Can I play?”

Oliver sighs in exasperation at the boy. “It’s a book– you don’t _play_ with a book.”

“Oh.” The bright green eyes look down sadly, and Oliver feels his stomach tug slightly as if he’s just kicked a puppy. He sighs. “I can read it to you, I guess, if you want.” Barry’s gaze looks back up at him hopefully, and Oliver’s own turns stern. “But it’s _my_ adventure. I get to decide what we do.” The little boy just nods eagerly, scrambling over to a place on the floor next to Oliver’s seat. The older boy arches a skeptic eyebrow, but Barry just looks at him expectantly, and so he opens the book and starts reading.

It’s kind of okay, actually. Barry is kind of cool, for a baby. He asks questions at the right places and helps Oliver when he’s deciding what to do without trying to make the choice for him. And when they die, he promises he won’t tell if they just go back to the last part and repick the ending.

They finish that one, and the next one about a submarine voyage, and another about a robot before his mom and Barry’s parents come upstairs. Oliver even let Barry choose once or twice which page they turned to. It wasn’t so bad, and while he isn’t _sad_ or anything that Barry’s leaving, he isn’t that upset when he hears Moira offer to have the younger boy and his family over again, and nods casually when she asks if he’d be okay with it. He doesn’t really mind Barry, he guesses.

Barry comes over pretty regularly after that. Maybe every other weekend or so, Moira Queen will have Dr. Henry Allen and his wife Nora over for tea, and they’ll discuss charities and research grants, and the two boys go upstairs and play. Oliver doesn’t mind losing his Saturday so much anymore, actually: it isn’t like playing with Tommy or Dig, obviously, since Barry’s just a little kid and isn’t as good at sports and stuff. But he’s a good hider, and runner, and so as they get used to each other, they spend more time outside in the courtyard, playing tag and hide-and-seek and racing. And when the weather turns gray, they go inside and read or draw or make up stories– Barry is pretty smart, actually, once you got him talking (he’s already skipped first grade altogether, and is at the top of his second grade class still). He likes stories about superheroes and aliens and stuff, and he’s actually a really good drawer. Sometimes Oliver will make up a character, and Barry can make a picture, and the two will create their own adventures, just like the books. It’s pretty cool.

***

When Ollie is ten, his dad starts coming home less often, and his mom is busier than usual with her projects, and signing Thea up for gymboree and play dates and activities that would last all day it seemed. Oliver has his own stuff he’s supposed to do, but instead he goes over to Tommy’s, or Dig’s sometimes. Except that doesn’t make him feel better either: he still feels alone and isolated from his family. It’s frustrating, and he wishes his mom and dad would feel as far away from him as he feels from them. So one day he sneaks onto the train and rides to Central City, running away to Barry’s house. It’s a much more modest, two-story home, but Barry is thrilled when he opens the door to the surprise, and eagerly sneaks his friend upstairs to his room while his mom is gardening in the backyard. Barry knows how to cook a little (well, he can follow instructions), and bakes them frozen french fries in the oven and bringing them upstairs with a ketchup-mustard mix while they read comic books on the floor of his messy room that his mom is always telling him to clean up. Ollie’s kind of jealous, honestly, but instead he just complains if he didn’t have Thea to look after, he’d run away forever and do whatever he wanted, and _Barry is so lucky he doesn’t have any brothers or sisters_. Barry frowns a little at that, and argues that he does have his best friend Iris, who comes over a lot, so she’s _kind of_ like a sister, because he’d never go anywhere without her. But then Ollie starts teasing him about Iris being his girlfriend, and Barry’s ears burn red and he tries to tackle the older boy and easily gets flipped onto his back, resulting in both boys laughing and screaming while they thrash around on the ground until Nora Allen runs upstairs at the noise and discovers them and drags them both into the car to drive Oliver the four hundred miles back to Starling City. But Nora also gives Oliver their phone number, so the boy can call Barry whenever he wants. And soon Barry starts coming over a lot more than just every other Saturday.

*** 

When Oliver is twelve, his father dies. He’s destroyed by the news– their yacht gone down in a storm. Oliver just stands there, numb, not talking for days, walking around in a trance. It’s not until Barry comes over, standing in the doorway with the saddest green eyes anyone’s ever seen, that the older boy manages to say anything. And the hoarse _Hey_ is all it takes: his voice cracks and he starts to cry and the little string bean of a younger boy races over to hold onto him tightly, because it’s not fair at all. Barry stays for the funeral and the rest of the week, attached at the hip, helping with small chit-chat of people that he doesn’t know but don’t really have any part in Ollie’s life so it doesn’t matter what he says beyond _hello_ and _thank you for coming_. Oliver isn’t sure how he would have managed without Barry, but he’s grateful, and when they curl up in the twin beds in the playroom, Ollie isn’t ignorant of the fact that by the next morning the warmth of the younger boy has curled up beside him, chasing away the loneliness and fear that the nightmares brought on in the darkness.

When the week is over though, Henry insists that Barry has to go back to Central City– back to his school and home and life over there. And the little boy seems to take his light– the thing that made this whole ordeal bearable–with him. Oliver spends the day with Dig, who doesn’t say anything, to his friend’s eternal gratitude. He just walks with his friend while they go to classes and Oliver tries not to notice people staring, whispering, and those looks. Oliver feels sick at the looks of pity on everyone’s faces. He ditches his last period and hides at the park, trying not to just punch a wall.  
His cell phone rings, and he glares at it, figuring it’s his mom, going to chew him out about ditching. But the number on the screen isn’t familiar, and he puzzles at it a minute before answering. He’s really glad he does though, because it turns out Barry used up all of his savings to buy a disposable phone and some minutes, and had a feeling Ollie wouldn’t make it the whole day. The two boys talk about nothing for a while, until Barry’s out of minutes and Oliver probably should go home. But now when when Ollie wakes up in the middle of the night, he knows Barry’s phone is right next to his bed, waiting in case he needs to talk.


	2. Real or Not Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a teen is hard work. And when things change, it only gets harder. Barry's always been there for Oliver though, so surely he can do the same, right?

When’s Oliver turns thirteen, Dig gets his first girlfriend. So does Tommy. Oliver doesn’t want to be the only one without one, so he asks out Laurel Lance at lunch, who’s nice enough, and they start hanging out between classes. After dinner though, he calls up Barry, who, while only eleven, has understood that girl’s don’t have cooties for a while– Iris is his best friend, after all. That weekend, when Barry comes over, the two boys read in silence for a while until Oliver manages to rack up his courage. _Has Barry ever kissed Iris?_ Yeah, the boy is two years younger than him, but there’s only one grade between them, and he’s also had a best friend that was a girl for a lot longer. That should count for something, right?

Apparently not, Ollie can tell by the bright crimson coloring his friend’s cheeks as he shifts his gaze to stare harder at his book, teeth digging into his lip in embarrassment. Oliver feels bad for asking, and gives a small, reassuring smile. It’s not like _he’s_ kissed Laurel yet, and _she’s_ his girlfriend. He probably will soon though– he’s sure Tommy and Dig have both kissed their girlfriends. And Laurel’s having a party at her house next weekend– he’ll definitely probably kiss her then.

Barry watches his friend closely. Ollie actually hates it when the younger boy does that– it means that he’s noticed something making Oliver uncomfortable, and he’s going to try to fix it. Oliver doesn’t need anyone to fix things for him– he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But he watches as Barry worries his bottom lip, looking like he’s screwing up his nerve to say something.

If Ollie’s that nervous about kissing… if he just wanted to _try_ it first…he’d– _you know…_

The legs of the chair scrape loudly against the hardwood as Oliver backs away from the table– away from Barry– in shock, and Barry’s bright red again as he quickly reassures his friend he doesn’t mean anything by it. Not like _that_ , he tells him. He just meant…you know, if he was worried about kissing Laurel– that’s all. He’s tripping over his words as his wide green eyes watch the older boy, desperately trying to backtrack.

Oliver’s gotten over the initial freak out, enough that he’s not going to bolt from the room. And he’s not afraid of Barry, god knows. It’s _Barry_. He imagines that he’d probably made the same offer to Iris at some point– or would, he guesses, if the bossy twelve-year old ever needed it. Barry just tends to say things without thinking about them, is all. Obviously, considering how embarrassed and flustered he looks now. 

The older boy feels bad for his reaction, and scoots back toward the table, his face giving a gentle smile to assure the gangly preteen that they’re okay. And Barry’s obviously relieved, and immediately ducks his head down to go back to his book and forget all about the conversation. 

Except now…well, now the idea’s kind of stuck in Oliver’s head. Because he _doesn’t_ know how to kiss. At all. And he doesn’t have an Iris like Barry does– he’s got Tommy and Dig, but he sure as hell isn’t asking either of _them_ about this thing. I mean, Barry won’t make fun of him– not for this. Not for just one quick peck– just to make sure he won’t embarrass himself at Laurel’s party…

He glances over at the younger boy, and he’s surprised that Barry’s sneaking looks at him from the corner of his eye. Oliver can feel his expression still tight with nerves, and he can tell Barry’s worried. He fidgets in place, and swallows thickly, taking a deep breath, which draws Barry’s attention enough so that (though his cheeks are still colored) he looks up.

_It’s not like this is a_ real _kiss_ , he states firmly, and Barry nods in affirmation. _And they’re not going to tell anyone?_ (The way the younger boy’s hair flies back and forth along his ardently shaking head is adorable in its puppy-like quality). Oliver swallows again, because he _really_ doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of all of his friends.

His eyes dart around the room carefully, before he scoots out of his chair, nodding at Barry to follow. He jogs down the stairs and to the closet, grabbing his archery gear and calling out to Thea that they’re going to the range for a little while (Thea calls back not to let Barry shoot one or someone might get hurt), and he continues to jog out along the path, toward the back of the property.

He can see Barry’s confused by the sudden impulse– Barry watches Ollie shoot sometimes, but he’s a horrible klutz, so he can really only watch, which makes it an activity they don’t usually do together unless there’s a competition approaching and the older boy needs some extra practice. Now isn’t that sort of time at all, so what are they doing?

Oliver keeps going though, past the range, to where the targets were pinned against the far wall. It offers some privacy– no one from the house, at least, will be able to see them, even if they were looking. And beyond that there shouldn’t be any landscapers or anyone wandering this far on the grounds. It should be okay.

He turns back toward Barry, who seems to have picked up on the reason for relocating at least, and nods as he settles onto the grass. The eleven-year old flops down across from him with significantly less grace, tucking his spindly legs beneath him, fingers splayed flat against his thighs.

Well, they’ve made it this far, and Oliver feels his stomach curling up in knots. He wonders if it’ll be this bad when he kisses Laurel– and if it is, then he’s kind of glad that he’s doing this with Barry first, because he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up, he’s so nervous. Barry, for his part, doesn’t look that much better, which is a little comforting, honestly.

Ollie’s the oldest, he supposes, so he should take the lead. He scoots a little closer, so that both boys’ knees are touching. Barry licks his lips nervously, and the older boy’s eyes follow the movement, causing another twitch in his gut. They’ll do it on three, he tells him, and Barry just nods.

He gets to _thr–_ when he stops, his face scrunching up as he tries to stifle a laugh but seriously _what is Barry doing?_ The younger boy opens his eyes from their screwed up squint, dropping the fierce pucker he’s twisted his mouth into, and looks embarrassed and upset that Oliver is obviously laughing at him, and the other boy feels guilty, reaching over to pat his friend’s shoulder. He’s not trying to make the boy feel bad, and it’s not like he has any experience either– but jeez, even _Oliver_ knows how to kiss better than that. Barry harrumphs and curls up in on himself, crossing his arms petulantly as his ears burn and Oliver can tell he’s this close to telling his older friend to forget it and scramble away with what’s left of his dignity. So he counts again, quicker this time, one two three, three, _three, oka–?_

Barry leans in mid-word, and it surprises him. It’s a little rough– the other boy is clearly still embarrassed about being laughed at, and is trying to make up for it by being assertive, even though he doesn’t have any clue what he’s doing. Their teeth knock against each other, and at first Oliver feels like this was a terrible idea.

The younger boy breathes though, and relaxes, and Ollie can feel his own hands instinctively slide up along the thin arms, under the sleeves of his tee shirt and holding onto his bare, bony shoulders. Barry, for his part, keeps one hand on the ground for balance, braced alongside Ollie’s thigh, and the other cupped carefully along the back of his neck. His lips are softer than the older boy would have thought, _if_ he’d ever thought about it, and he opens his mouth slightly, pressing around the other with a soft gasp, angling closer to Barry so that they were almost chest to chest.

He’s not sure how long it lasts– it seems like forever and no time at all honestly– before they pull away. But it couldn’t have been long– he’s not practicing _making out_ , after all. He’d much rather do that with Laurel. But Oliver’s still a little winded from the experience, and he presses his hands against his legs as he pants slightly, licking his tender lips in the warm sun.

_Is that– was that– okay?_ Of course Barry’d be the first one to speak, voice cracking slightly as he looks over at his best friend, face flushed and lips spit-slick. Oliver is quick to reassure him that it was fine, even though he’s not really sure himself. It was his first kiss too, after all– that was the whole point– and the blood in his ears is pounding so hard that he can barely hear anything. Is that normal? 

Being the older of the two, though, Oliver forces himself to recover, offering a casual smile and pushing himself to his feet; a quick thanks for helping him, and he thinks he’ll be okay with Laurel now. Laurel his _girlfriend_. Barry nods, scrambling up as well and offering an uncertain smile with a no problem, and Oliver suggests they head back inside and get some pizza before Barry’s parents come by to pick him up. That causes the younger boy to perk up slightly, his head quickly bobbing in agreement, and the two boys brush the grass off their pants before shuffling back inside. Neither really speak, but Oliver keeps sneaking glances back at Barry, whose eyes are studiously fixed on the ground as he steps across the lawn. He wants to ask what Barry thought of the kiss, but they already said they wouldn’t talk about it anymore– it was just the once, so Ollie wouldn’t make an idiot of himself when he did it for real. He’s not sure if he has any other friends that would do something like that, but he’s not going to make it weird by bringing it up again.

And the next weekend, when he and Laurel play 7 Minutes in Heaven, she seems happy with his technique, and it’s nice kissing her, he thinks. He feels an adrenaline jolt, his pulse quickens, and he can’t help but compare it to the one with Barry. Kissing Laurel should feel better, right? Because Laurel’s his girlfriend, and she’s really hot, and she’s got her hands in his hair and her tongue in his mouth. It’s good– it’s really good. It’s just…different, he guesses. His stomach isn’t really as twisted up right now, before or after, but maybe that’s just because he already knows how? 

He wants to talk to Barry about it– wants to ask him if maybe they can try again, because he just wants to figure out the difference between the kisses. But he chickens out, and instead they just hang out and watch movies when the younger boy comes over the next day, Ollie’s skin buzzing slightly when his hand brushes Barry’s as they both reach for popcorn.

***

Oliver’s fourteenth birthday is three months away when he loses his best friend. Barry’s mom dies– is murdered– and Dr. Henry Allen is arrested for the crime. Oliver can’t believe it– how anyone could think Barry’s dad would do that is beyond him. His first instinct when he finds out, though, is to have the younger boy move in with his family; they’ve known the Allens for years, and Barry’s family was there for them when his dad died. He couldn’t even remember thanking Barry properly for staying with him that week. For comforting him during the day and curling up beside him at night, keeping the crippling sadness manageable. And now Barry doesn’t have either of his parents– of course he’d need Oliver and his family. 

But Moira’s already distancing the Queen name from all connections to the doctor, his research, and the Central City Medical Center as quickly as possible. Ollie tries to call Barry, but the cell phone has been disconnected and he finds out that he’s gone to live with Iris’ family instead when he calls the house line. He doesn’t know where Iris lives, and his mom won’t let him go to Central City– forbids it. She even assigns someone from the security staff to watch him and keep him from sneaking off like he did long ago. Oliver begs, pleads with her that his friend needs him, but Moira Queen has always put her family’s needs first, and she explains to her son how much being Barry’s friend could hurt them– could hurt Barry too, she tells him. Oliver doesn’t understand, but he does believe his mother when she points out that Barry lives four hundred miles away, and that Iris’ father is a police detective in Central City, and they’ll take care of him in a place he knows and belongs. So instead of seeking out the boy that he’d known for years, Oliver Queen hides in his room, and doesn’t cry, but spends the rest of the year feeling helpless against being the biggest piece of chicken shit in the world and just letting his friend go. He pushes down all of his feelings except for the ones that don’t matter, going to parties with Tommy and dating a bunch of girls and doing all sorts of stupid stuff high school rich kids should. He just lets himself forget that he ever knew anyone like Barry Allen, much less just chose to abandon him and leave him lost and alone.


End file.
